


the taste of dried-up hopes

by plalligator



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Courtship, Cultural Differences, Getting Together, Gift Giving, M/M, Misunderstandings, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plalligator/pseuds/plalligator
Summary: Kamet does not appreciate the King of Attolia's attempts to buy his loyalty.





	the taste of dried-up hopes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jain/gifts).



> happy yuletide, jain! thanks for your great prompts!

Almost before Kamet knew it, they had been half a year in Roa. They arrived in late spring, when the crossing was easy and the waters of the Ellid Sea smooth for sailing. The months flew by, in between getting established at the temple and setting up lodgings in an old shepherd’s cabin up on the hill above the village. Kamet busied himself with the work of copying, while Costis tramped about making friends and keeping an eye on the sea to the south. It had been, in all respects, a pleasant few months.

Now it was edging into autumn and beyond, and Costis was acting strange. 

“What is this?” asked Kamet in bewilderment, though he could see quite clearly: it was a vest of finely woven wool, with brightly colored stripes of embroideries ringing the collar and hem and running along the seams under the arms. The men of Roa wore such things with their long white tunics and wide sashes. 

“It’s for you,” said Costis as if it was obvious. “Winter will be along soon, and while it’s not as if we’re in the mountains of Eddis, I thought you could use it.”

Kamet stared at him, wondering if he had taken a knock to the head. He picked up the vest gingerly, noting the embroidery more closely. It had probably taken the maker hours, maybe days to do. 

“Did you  _ buy _ this?” asked Kamet incredulously, offended on behalf of their hard-won stash of funds. 

“No, no,” said Costis. “You remember last month how I helped Janos in the valley mend their boundary wall? His wife Zofia made this as repayment.” 

Kamet eyed the vest skeptically. It seemed too fine of a make to be a simple gift in trade, though Costis did have a way of charming people into generosity. 

“Well,” he said belatedly. “Thank you.” His voice sounded abrupt and ungrateful to his own ears, and that put him out of temper. Costis certainly noticed, but in his infuriating manner did not say or do anything about it, remaining his usual patient and good-humored self. 

He could still not see the reason for such a gift, Kamet thought grumpily to himself as he lay on his bedroll in front of the hearth that night, Costis an arm’s length away. Since moving to Roa, they had both adopted the practice of wearing the wool trousers native to the region under their tunics, both to better blend in and for warmth. But their clothing was perfectly adequate for a scribe of minor status and an itinerant farmhand in the countryside. 

By morning, he had managed to put aside some of his misgivings. Costis had been right that it was getting cold as autumn turned to winter, and Kamet could often see his own breath in the air as he walked to and from the temple. If nothing else, the vest was certainly warm, and it would be bad form to alienate the village woman Zofia by not wearing it. 

::

To Kamet’s increasing bewilderment, things did not end there. A month later, Costis turned up with new woolen winter cloaks for both of them, only the hood of Kamet’s was edged in rabbit fur and it came with mittens,  _ also _ lined with fur. When asked, Costis could only say something about helping to shear sheep back in the spring—which was even  _ more _ confusing, as it meant this had been in the works since they arrived—and then chopping firewood for old Marthe who lived on the other side of the hill from them, and having snared the rabbits himself. Kamet could only conclude that by sheer accident of personality, Costis had made himself so invaluable that he had collected favors from everyone up and down the valley. 

“Why doesn’t yours have the lining?” asked Kamet. Costis shrugged.

“I only had the fur for one,” he said. “I figured it would be easy enough to catch another rabbit and do mine afterward.” 

For a perennially honest man, Costis could be maddeningly obtuse at times. 

Kamet had plenty of time to be grateful for the cloak and mittens as he trudged to and from the temple every day in the damp, heavy Magyar snow. 

“That is a fine cloak, hey,” said one of his fellow scribes one day, a Ferrian by the name of Gianni. “Where did you get it?”

Gianni was an inoffensive young man, the product of a union between some minor Ferrian nobleman and a courtesan of the Duke’s court. Apparently the courtesans in Ferria were expected to not just be able to read and write, but also to compose poetry and music. The lady, who lived in great comfort in a villa of her own, had been free in hiring tutors for her young son. 

The son in question had revealed all this to Kamet quite freely, apparently completely unselfconscious as to his background. Gianni was a pleasant companion with a thorough knowledge of the poetry of the continent, and Kamet had rather surprised himself to find that over halting conversations conducted equally in Ferrian, Mede, and Magyar, that they had become friends. 

“My friend had it made for me,” said Kamet. “And one for himself,” he added to avoid giving the wrong impression.

It didn’t work. 

“Ah,” said Gianni. “You have found a patron, then. Someone to give you nice things? Good for you, Kamet!” 

It was not the first time the suggestion had been made, and certainly not the most explicit. Still, Kamet couldn’t help a flinch. Gianni knew nothing of Kamet’s previous life except that he had once been a scribe in the Mede Empire, and the court of Ferria did not keep slaves so far as Kamet knew. No doubt the implication was different for Gianni. He had, after all, benefited from patronage. Still, it made Kamet testy, like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

“No patron,” he said as steadily as he was able. “Just a traveling companion who is skilled at bartering.” 

“Ah, well,” said Gianni, unconcerned. “You will be warm, at least, no matter the reason!” He blew on his own hands to warm them, rubbing them together vigorously in the chill of the temple. “Shall we get to work? I am quite eager to see the rest of the account of the holy man’s journey in the mountains that I began the other day.” 

Kamet agreed, and tried to put the interaction out of his mind. 

::

It turned out that once he entertained the thought, he couldn’t persuade it to leave. He reminded himself that Costis had an unselfish temperament and a strong sense of honor, and would be injured at the idea that he would stoop to buying another man’s friendship. He reminded himself that he and Costis were equals, free men and subjects of the Queen of Attolia and the King of Kings, Attolis Eugenides. There were no loyalties or obligations between them beyond the bonds of friendship.

But, a dark corner of Kamet’s brain whispered balefully, there is a man to whom Costis owes his loyalty, who might very well want yours as well.

He immediately felt foolish for thinking it, but it was like picking at a well-healed scab. Painful, and a bad idea, but disgustingly compelling and hard to quit. It festered in him, and was not helped when Costis came home with a finely carved wooden writing case. 

“What is this for?” Kamet asked, less a question than a demand. 

“For pens and things, obviously,” said Costis without rancor. He held the case out. “Here. I thought you could use it to take to and from the temple.” 

All the scribes at the temple had to mix their own ink, as well as provide their own pens and quills. Kamet generally just wrapped his in a roll of cloth and tucked them inside his cloak, but he was forever worrying they would fall out. A pen case would be, rationally, a nice thing to have.

Costis was still holding the thing out to him. Kamet pressed his lips together and resolutely didn’t reach out to take it.

After a beat, Costis shrugged and walked over to set in on a shelf. 

“Well, use it or not,” he said. “Shall we get supper started?” He didn’t seem like a man offended that his gifts were being refused. Even a man as even-tempered as Costis would be stung by rejection if the gift meant anything, right? 

Kamet felt sick. If there was one thing he knew, it was the meaning of  _ gifts _ . 

“Yes,” he echoed numbly. “Supper.” 

::

As the days got shorter, and clouds covered the sun even during the daytime, it became more and more gloomy in the temple’s copying room. The darkness certainly suited Kamet’s mood of late, but it was not conducive to good copying. The light from candles and oil lamps was not nearly enough for the whole space, and drafts caused them to flicker at inconvenient moments. Kamet was forever squinting at the scrolls he was set to copy, trying make out what was text and what was spots of mold or dirt. It made his head pound, being at it hour after hour. 

“Have you thought about getting spectacles?” asked Costis, when Kamet expressed this thought to him over an evening meal one night.

Kamet paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth and stared. They ate, as had become their custom since it had gotten cold, on stools in front of the hearth, and Kamet had to squint at Costis in the firelight to make out his expression. Which was, of course, perfectly earnest. 

“What?” he said.

“You know,” said Costis, “spectacles.” He brought his thumbs and forefingers together in a circle and held them up before his eyes. 

“I know what spectacles are,” snapped Kamet. 

“I’m sure they would only help,” said Costis, mopping up the last of his stew with a hunk of bread. “Your eyesight is the worst of anyone I’ve ever met.” 

“My eyesight is fine,” said Kamet automatically. 

“You didn’t recognize the king until your nose was an inch from his,” said Costis mildly. “I was there.” 

Kamet chose to ignore this.

“Where would I even get spectacles?” he asked instead. “In Roa of all places.” 

“There’s a glazier two towns over,” said Costis. “He’s the brother-in-law of the smith in the village. Apparently he grinds lenses for the spyglasses that all the sea captains around here use. Spectacles ought to be no problem.” 

Of course. Of course the glazier was the brother-in-law of the smith, and Costis knew this, and knew that he ground lenses for spyglasses. Kamet’s appetite was suddenly gone, the walls around him seeming claustrophobic instead of cozy.

He grit his teeth, and set his bowl and spoon down.

“Did the king put you up to this?” 

“What?” asked Costis.

“Did the  _ king _ put you  _ up _ to this?” Kamet repeated more loudly, out of patience. 

Costis blinked at him. 

“Up to what?” he asked, to all appearances bewildered. 

“You know,  _ this,”  _ said Kamet, flinging an arm out. “Gifts! Favors!” 

“Why on earth would the king tell me to do such a thing?” asked Costis with increasing consternation. 

“Perhaps to remind me of the benefits of loyalty to Attolia,” said Kamet acidly. “To ensure that a subject far from home does not go astray. Or perhaps he feels he owes me? That there is some debt he has not repaid?” 

“ _ What, _ ” said Costis, gaping at Kamet. “ _ No.  _ No—that’s—the king has nothing to do with it. Is  _ that  _ what you’ve been stewing over these past weeks? Gods, Kamet, I had no idea.” He shook his head a couple, staring into space as if he didn’t know what to say next. 

“Kamet, I  _ like _ you,” he finally said, helplessly. He was speaking Attolian, and through Kamet’s suddenly thundering pulse, the intellectual corner of his mind coolly noted the of the verb used, which Kamet had most commonly seen before in love poetry. 

“I give you things for no other reason than that I wish you should have them,” continued Costis, “that they should bring you pleasure. Is that not something I may do for my dear friend?” 

He reached out slowly to cup Kamet’s face in one broad palm, and Kamet almost flinched at the tenderness in his touch. 

“Though I  _ do _ worry about your eyesight, really,” Costis continued. “I’m afraid you’ll wander off somewhere and fall in a hole.” 

“That was you who fell in a hole,” said Kamet tartly, to quell the churning of his stomach, a strange burn of shame and shock. “Or have you forgotten?” 

Costis laughed softly. 

“I suppose that’s true. Maybe _I_ need spectacles.” He drew his hand away from Kamet’s face and clasped his hands instead, eyes serious. “Kamet. The king may have my loyalty but he does not command where my affections lie. He would not ask such a thing of me, and he knows if he did I should in all likelihood hit him again. That he happened to bring us together I count as nothing more than a happy coincidence.”

Kamet now felt entirely foolish and more than a little bit of an ass. With great difficulty and many halting words, he managed to say so.

“Well, it is not as if I didn’t know you were difficult before,” said Costis, with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “And it has not changed my opinion of you in the slightest. Do I take it I have convinced you that the king is not involved in matters between us?” 

By way of answering, Kamet—in a burst of daring that surprised even himself—leaned forward, took Costis’s face in his hands, and kissed him firmly.

When he pulled away, Costis was gratifyingly pink.

_ “Kamet,”  _ he said in a low, hoarse voice that set a fire burning in Kamet’s belly and this time Kamet knocked over the stool he had been sitting on in his haste. It hit the floor with a thud, and then Costis’s mouth was warm and eager against his.

::

Gifts weren’t so bad after all, if they were given in the right spirit. 


End file.
